Lieutenant Morrison banged his fist on the desk, coffee cup spilling muddy brew. “Damn it, Cob,” he barked at his new detective, “how could you lose him?”

“Trail went cold. Snitch booked.”

“Speaking of booked,” the redhead smirked, her purple-glossed lips smearing across her flawless China-doll face as she sashayed her bodacious booty into the room full of testosterone, “I got him. Getting processed now.”

“I’d like to vet her in bed,” Cob sniggered to his partner.

“Don’t waste your sweat. She’s vice. You’d think she’d be hot in the sack, but she ain’t. More like a robot.